The Wolf Marshal's Pack (U.S. Marshal Shifters 3)

Colby pressed on blindly forward, his head now down so he could run the tip of his tongue around one of Aria’s nipples.

And it was such an unbelievable sensation that she wanted, more than anything, to lose herself to it, but—

“This is an office,” she whispered.

Colby lifted his head. His lips were reddened from their kissing and—she noticed with a trace of smug possessiveness—just the tiniest bit glossy from where some of her lip balm had rubbed off on him. He seemed to be having some trouble taking in his surroundings, and she felt pretty smug about that too.

She saw his gaze move slowly around the room, taking in pieces of evidence:

Desk. Ancient computer with a bulky, boxy monitor. Filing cabinet.

“It’s an office,” Colby conceded. He glared at the room like it had decided to be an office just to spite him. “Okay, where’s the bedroom? I know the layout of this place, just let me think—”

Aria, feeling wicked and somehow deliciously powerful, tightened the hold she had on him with her legs, pressing her body forward against his.

He groaned. “That’s not helping.”

“Don’t think. We’ll just keep trying doors.”

The next door was another bathroom.

Honestly, if it had had even a slightly soft-looking bath mat, Aria would have been okay with them stopping then and there. She had never been so wet in her entire life, and Colby had decided to take an amazingly sweet revenge on her by carrying her one-handed after all—so he could slip his other hand between her legs, stroking up between her bare folds.

She kept hearing impossible-sounding whimpers coming out of her mouth. She hadn’t even known she was capable of making sounds like that.

She threw her head back, her thoughts scattering like marbles. This was unfair. There was no way that tight, hip-grinding embrace she’d done with him could equal the hot, tantalizing play of his fingers and thumb against her clit and entrance.

Or, if it did, then she couldn’t wait to see what else she could do for him.

“Next room,” she said, gasping as he gently slid one finger inside her. “I don’t care what it is. If it’s a utility closet, or a pantry, or a—”

She was rapidly losing her ability to even remember what different rooms were called. A second finger had joined the first.

“—or a library or a conservatory...”

Okay, now she was just naming places from Clue.

Aria Clarke, killed by Colby Acton, in the hallway, with his ridiculously talented fingers.

The next room, thank God, was a bedroom.

They hit the bed with so much force that she was surprised they didn’t immediately break it in two.

She lay on her back, naked, her legs spread wide. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he stood above her, clad now only in his tight, dark-washed jeans. She could see the way his hard cock was straining against them.

Maybe she really had teased him too much, deliberately rubbing up against that.

Good. Maybe he?

??ll keep on teasing me back.

She dug her hands into the quilt, bunching up the material in her fists in a futile effort to keep her desire in check as he finally shoved his jeans down and finished undressing.

However much she wanted him—and she wanted him so much she was surprised she wasn’t just spontaneously combusting on the spot—she had to remember that he was still sore.

He was superhumanly strong and even, unbelievably, superhumanly in love with her, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t hurting from his fight with Weston Hebbert.

She needed to be gentle with him. And, even more importantly, she needed to make sure he was gentle with himself.